


What you Wanted

by samedifference61



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 3x07, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver moves like the ship belongs to him today, like the Atlantic would part at his command if he would just give the word. It all leaves Flint feeling drawn to him like a compass’s pull toward north, and he’s left wondering how quickly tides can shift and how he could have underestimated this one man so severely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you Wanted

_I’ll put your poison in my veins_

_They say the best love is insane_

_I’ll light your fire till my last day_

_I’ll let your fields burn around me_

_If that’s what you wanted_

 

Flint watches Silver now, has been watching him since he and the others returned to the _Walrus_ , since the men began trading whispers of John Silver’s focused rage. They speak of the way he commanded attention and spoke of Flint like a god king, like someone to be feared, but mostly, they speak of the sound a crushed skull makes under the forced weight of iron.

Flint watches Silver now, stalking about the deck, busying himself with rope and sails. 

Flint can see he’s favoring his right leg, the one left whole, but he manages to move with confidence and purpose anyway. Silver moves like the ship belongs to him today, like the Atlantic would part at his command if he would just give the word. It all leaves Flint feeling drawn to him like a compass’s pull toward north, and he’s left wondering how quickly tides can shift and how he could have underestimated this one man so severely.

“Captain,” Silver acknowledges with a slight tilt of his head before he disappears in the direction of Flint’s cabin.

In the near darkness, Flint cannot see the blue of Silver’s eyes.

***

When Flint comes to his cabin, Silver is carefully bandaging what’s left of his leg. Flint knows he prefers to dress the wound in private or not at all. Weeks ago, Flint insisted Silver use the captain’s quarters after Dr. Howell complained of his stubbornness.

Now, Flint locks the door behind him with a rusted click. The lit candles throw Silver’s face into blurred shadows.  

Silver only looks up when Flint’s belt and attached sabre fall to the wooden floor beneath them, pooling at his feet. The pistol and holster join the belt, along with a short blade tucked into a secret corner of Flint’s leather jacket. Silver’s eyebrows only raise when Flint’s jacket joins the belt and he stretches the black cotton tunic off with it, exposing bare skin weathered by the sun and ocean salt, toned by the rhythm of life at sea and from battles long forgotten.

And Silver smiles then, a curl of his lips set into deep satisfaction. “So that’s what it takes then? A man to show his loyalty by killing for you?” And then more to himself, “God, I would have done it months ago if I’d known.” His words are measured though, fatigued.

Flint moves forward, shedding his boots as he goes. They each fall to the floor with a hefty thud. “You didn’t kill Dufresne for me,” Flint insists.

Silver regards him with an even expression, too tired to feign innocence with a quip about Flint’s perceptiveness. Instead, he says, “I did it to send a message.” 

He stops just short of where Silver is sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Flint grips the edge of it, crowding into Silver’s space. The man smells of sweat, of leather, and maybe a little like spilled blood.

“And how did it feel to prove them all wrong?” Flint asks, imagining the faces of the men in the tavern where the single brutal act committed there undoubtedly proved John Silver’s disability held no disadvantage to him.

Now, Silver’s breathing heavier and his eyes are glassy, lids heavy behind dark lashes. He thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Like I imagine how it feels for you when they follow you into battle without question. Dangerous, terrifying, yet so very— seductive.”

Silver tests his limits with a touch, the first along Flint’s shoulder and upper back, tracing the barely closed skin where Teach slashed him open. It’s sensitive still, so Flint feels his muscles tense there, but he lets Silver trace it gently, skipping his fingers along its edge as if measuring its breadth.

“Is that how it feels for you?” Silver asks.

Flint grunts in acknowledgement. “On a good day.”

Silver nods, offering acceptance when he should be running far from this profane place where they are finding common ground, a place where Flint, too, cannot force himself to turn away.

Silver then reaches up with a warm open palm, digs his fingers in all along Flint’s jaw and cheekbone. Eye to eye, both men stare. Flint feels vulnerable here, caught between an intimate touch and Silver’s own boldness.

Moving forward, there will be no secrets between them. Flint understands this now. This man has spilled blood for him, for them both, and in turn he will know all the hidden bits that Flint hides from rest of the world. And they will be given freely. Flint thinks of Miranda then. A brief wisp of her face and a murmur of something more, a promise to cull the loneliness.  

Flint pulls away, stalking toward the jug of rum on the shelf, and opens the cork with his teeth. He cannot think of her now, of either of them, but he cannot help wonder what Silver might think of him if he knew. What would he think of Miranda, of Thomas, of his idealist self too naïve to know what would come of it all?

Silver rises unsteadily from the chair and goes to Flint. One hand braces himself against the bookshelf, and the other steals the rum, taking a large swig.  Then he reaches out to steady himself, using Flint’s shoulder for leverage.  Flint likes the weight of him there.

“So how do you want me, Captain? On my knees? On my back?” Silver teases. “Or I could always think up something more imaginative.”

And _oh_ , how Flint wants him.

Flint crowds him to the desk so he’s forced to sit on the edge there. He rucks the white tunic up and over Silver’s head, deciding action is best before Silver’s mouth gets carried away once more. The belt at his waist is easily unfastened and the trousers are easier still.

Flint has not done this in a while, but the whispered profanities and Silver’s white knuckled grip on the desk’s edge shows Flint it is not a skill easily forgotten.

“Do not come,” Flint says against the hot length of Silver’s dick. He squeezes the base of it to emphasize his point and feels Silver’s whole body roll into a shiver. He gasps and breathes forcefully and swears when Flint takes him in again.

Silver grabs at Flint’s neck digging his fingers into skin at the base of his skull, testing his limits again, but softens his hold when Flint pulls back abruptly and gives a warning glance that he imagines isn’t as menacing from this angle as he’d like.

“I won’t,” Silver promises, eyes wide with wonder. _He isn’t ready for this, not any of it_ , Flint thinks to himself.

Not daring to look up again, Flint knows Silver’s eyes are fixed on him now, not at all shy about watching. A hand reaches down to trail softly along the beard at Flint’s chin as he works Silver over. Bolder still, Silver’s fingers touch Flint’s stretched, spit slicked lips. Flint takes those fingers into his mouth, scraping his teeth slowly along them from root to tip. Silver swears again and reaches out, squeezing Flint’s hand around his own dick to keep from coming.

“God, I can’t,” he blurts out. “Whatever the fuck you want from me, just fucking do it. Do it now or I am going to come.”

“Is that what you want?” Flint asks hoarsely, voice surprising himself as much as Silver.

“God, yes,” Silver admits, watching Flint hungrily as he rises to his feet with a swipe at his mouth and a squeeze of his own confined dick.

“Not yet,” Flint says, hauling Silver up with an arm thrown around his shoulder for support.

Silver falls to the bed as gracefully as he can manage and Flint pushes up against him from behind, careful to avoid Silver’s wounded leg.

“Are you good on your knees?” Flint whispers against Silver’s neck, taking the skin there between his teeth. Silver pushes back against the hard bulge nudging at his rear.

“Fine,” he manages but then Flint is gone, leaving Silver heaving, naked, and unbearably hard.

Flint returns with his trousers removed and a hand slicked with oil from the lamp. He pushes his body flush with Silver’s before pressing a finger into his opening. Silver relaxes into it and tries to widen his hips as much as he can. Patiently, Flint lets him find a good balancing point, not wanting to cause further pain to his leg.

Silver must know what Flint’s doing because he insists, “I’m fine. Christ, I’m fine. You cannot treat me like an invalid. _Not you_.”

Flint opens him further and then pushes in without warning. He stretches out over Silver’s back, and traces his teeth along Silver’s spine, skipping over the bumps one by one, counting each. He wills his breathing to settle as Silver relaxes into the sensation, sweat pooling all along the small of his back.

When Silver takes hold of Flint’s forearm and starts nudging him backwards, letting little gasping sounds escape his mouth, Flint takes it as his cue to start moving.

He moves. And _oh_ , oh it is _good_.

Silver’s mouth starts to run again and he’s saying things like, “ _My God_ , if I knew. I would have had you fuck me that first day. Could have been doing this the whole fucking time. Could have—” And Flint will never tell Silver how his mouth undoes him, so instead Flint barks out, “ _Enough_ ,” and holds a hand over Silver’s mouth until all that’s spilling forth are heavy little grunts and punctuated breaths.

Eventually Silver reaches down and takes hold of himself, squeezes a few times before spitting into his hand and moving to pump his hand over his dick with determination. Flint slows his own motions and reaches down to cover Silver’s hand with his own.

Silver pleads with him, “Let me. Let me. _Let me_.”

And Flint does this time. Almost immediately, he feels the orgasm wash over Silver from the inside. Flint comes shortly after, a silent, _John_ mouthed into Silver’s shoulder as he does.

***

“If we do this, we do it together—” Silver is saying, an arm splayed across his eyes, shielding them from the moon beam striking the bed, or to hide his face from searching eyes. Flint isn’t sure.

Flint presses his fingers against Silver’s neck, just below his Adam’s Apple, feeling the vibrations there as Silver talks about everything and nothing at once. Flint could kill a man by pressing too hard here, stop his breath, feel the life leave his body. Knowing this, Silver still lets Flint press there anyway.

Flint isn’t listening to Silver as he makes longwinded plans and spouts reassurances on a whisper. None of that matters right now. This is what matters: Silver isn’t ready for this path he’s chosen, but Flint has learned from his own awful mistakes, and Silver will benefit from that wisdom in ways he cannot yet know.

Experience has also taught Flint to live for the moment, take in as much as you can before it’s all lost to the sea and the shadows. The life they live affords them little more. Cataloging with his senses, Flint places all of his observations in a safe place somewhere in the private part of his brain: the salty taste of skin, the prickling roughness of Silver’s beard, smooth muscles and sharp rib bones. A steadily thudding heartbeat. Freckles collecting here and there from too much sun. An aged scar below his elbow, straight and long, a quick cut from a sharp blade. He wonders about that one most of all.

After a while, once sleep is calling to him, Flint goes up on one elbow and stares down at Silver until he stops talking.

“Have you even been listening?” Silver scowls up at him.

“Rest now,” Flint says wearily. “The storm will come, and we will fight as we always do. You have me, and there is nothing else to say.”

Silver looks at him with skepticism, and his mouth opens to protest, but he settles on saying nothing. Silver shakes his head in agreement finally and chooses, for now, to do as he is told.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic in about six years, and it's unbeta'd because I have no friends in the fandom. Blah, here goes nothing. Feedback would be much appreciated to calm the nervous flailing I've done over this one. Song from One Republic What you Wanted.


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